


Somewhere That Isn't Here

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [99]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bakery, M/M, Online Dating, Substitution, absence makes the heart grow fonder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The date is a semi-disaster.





	Somewhere That Isn't Here

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Bakery. Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts).

The date is a semi-disaster.

The guy looks nothing like his profile pic (but when do they?) and he’s 10 minutes late (and doesn’t really apologize) and spends the always awkward time between ordering and the arrival of the meal jabbering away about how awful his day was, how hard he’s been working, and--wait for it--how much he misses his ex.

Loki gets up without a word when the entrees arrive and doesn’t look back.

He suspects his date doesn’t notice.

It’s not even eight thirty when he starts the walk home, struggling through the swarms of tourists crowding the sidewalks in the squares. They stand in the shadows of the spotlights and gape up at statues of men whose names aren’t really known outside of this city, whose names they’ll forget before they even leave town, but tonight, the interlopers just have to bloody well clog Loki’s way home so they can read every word of historical markers written long before they were born.

The moon is high and the air is thick with rain that hadn’t fallen yet, with the tension of late summer heat, and it’s only then that Loki gives into it, the feeling beneath the annoyance he’s been feeling all night: it’s disappointment, is what it is, with a little tinge of sadness, because what he wouldn’t give to be walking home tonight with someone lovely on his arm, someone who’s fascinated by him, someone who’s anxious to get him alone and spread that fascination over his body with big, knowing hands and a soft, eager mouth.

It’s not as if he’d thought that tonight he’d be meeting The One or something. The concept of the One, after all, was the bullshit province of heteronormativity, a fairy tale straights told each other to feel better about being straight: stay on the right path, darlings, amble down the center line of monogamy, and one day, your one true love will emerge.

But he had hoped he’d be meeting somebody who interested him. Somebody attractive, somebody who could hold a conversation. Somebody pretty who wanted to get into his pants. Somebody, Loki thought ruefully, trailing his fingers through his now-damp hair, who wanted to make him feel good and asked only the same in return. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Surely not.

And yet, in the throes of summer in Savannah, it seemed that it was.

Ten dates in two weeks he’d gone on and none of them, none, remotely tickled his fancy, or even skirted it closely enough for him to want to raise his, to lower his standards just long enough for a solid snog or a halfway decent lay.

Nothing. Zilch. Zero.

It’d been a hell of a drought, ever since Steve from SCAD had broken it off for the summer, blushed like hell under his sweet, scratchy beard and apologized profusely, like he was taking a hammer to Loki’s heart by going home while school was out, which had been the plan all long. Well, Loki’s plan, anyway.

“Darling,” he’d said, stroking the long lines of Steve’s hair, “it’s all right. I understand.”

Steve had raised his head, his chin brushing Loki’s chest, those great blue eyes awash in sentiment, in sweet. When they were fucking, when Steve was banging Loki’s body into the bed, it was easy to forget how young Steve was at 20; barely more than a child, really. But times like this, with all the emotions of youth on his face, beautiful and unguarded, it couldn’t have been more clear how much of a boy he still was.

“You—” Steve had said hesitantly, “you do?”

“You’ve been talking about going home for weeks, and I didn’t think you were going to put me in your suitcase and carry me with you.”

“I would if I could.” Steve leaned up and kissed him, lingered. “But somehow, I feel like you’d disappear if I tried to take you over the bridge. Like you’ll turn into a ghost if I drag you over the city limits or something.”

Loki caught Steve’s shoulder and tugged him up, got that big, warm body stretched over his properly again. “And why on earth would you think that, hmm?”

Steve had made a low sound, drowned deep in Loki’s mouth. “You seem,” he managed after a time, “you seem so much a part of Savannah that I can’t imagine you existing anywhere else, I guess. It’s hard for me to see you somewhere that isn’t here.”

And then Loki had wound his fingers around Steve’s reawakening cock--ah, the pleasures of youth, indeed--and there had been no room for talk after that, none but the sordid, scattered kind that the union of their bodies so often had brought.

They had parted with no promises, with no expectations, and Loki had liked it that way. Perhaps they would resume their trysts when Steve returned in a few weeks, when the new semester began, but perhaps not. Only time and the vagaries of proximity would decide.

He missed Steve, though, more than he’d imagined, and as the weeks had passed, he’d been forced to admit to himself that there was more to his fondness for the boy than simply the joy of Steve’s marvelous cock. He missed Steve’s meandering stories about his studio classes, about his odd but exacting teachers, about his fellow would-be artists. Loki missed his booming laughter and his fondness for physical affection, his propensity to wrap his arms around Loki’s waist when Loki was cutting tomatoes or opening a bottle of wine--not to demand Loki’s full attention, but just because it pleased Steve so to be close.

They weren’t boyfriends, far from it, and hardly exclusive, and it’d surprised Loki, how much he found himself missing Steve’s companionship, his presence, his broad, happy smile, and none of Loki’s usual hook-up suspects had been able to do anything to fill that void, that unexpected gap that Steve had left behind.

So he’d gone looking for something more on goddamn dating apps, which he hated, because he’d be damned if he’d drag himself to some hot, sweaty bar; if he was going to date-- _ugh--_ then let it be with some pretense.

Two weeks of this shit, and they’d all been various shades of terrible. But tonight, without question? Had been the worst one yet.

He definitely deserves a cupcake. Maybe two. After all, he hadn’t had a single bite of his dinner.

Oh, fuck that. He's getting three.

And thank the gods, Costa’s on the corner is still open, bless their buttercream frosting. Maybe the night wouldn't be a total wash, after all.

“Hey,” a voice says when he pushed inside, rising above the tinkle of the door’s jaunty bell, “we’re almost closed.”

“Almost?” Loki says. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” the voice calls, “that whatever’s in the case is all that we’ve got.” A blond guy ducks out of the back, the top of his head grazing the doorframe, says: “But if you ask nice, I’ll sell ‘em to you half price.”

“You’ll--?” Loki says, his vocal cords temporarily paralyzed, because this man, this great broad beast of a man, is a vision, even with flour in his hair. He’s got a beard and gentle blue eyes and a face that would’ve made an angel shy and if he looks like a mirror’s twin of young Steve, a half-remembered reflection, surely, Loki tells himself, that’s neither here nor there.

The guy grins and that, Loki’s heart says faintly, is just this side of too much. “Half price. And that’s still a bit of a rip off. If you hadn’t come in, I was gonna box these up and take them home. Part of my wages, believe it or not. Makes my roommates think that I’m a god.”

“You’re new,” Loki manages. “Aren’t you? I haven’t seen you in here before.”

The man tilts his head. “Me? No. Been working here for ages--a couple of years, anyway. But I’m guessing you don’t come here so late, usually.”

“Not usually, no.”

“We must’ve just missed each other, then.” The guy sticks a hand over the counter and Loki takes it, squeezes back. “My name’s Thor.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Loki.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been on vacation this week, gentle reader. Can you guess where?


End file.
